


a manifesto, on the eve of my banishment

by ShannonXL



Series: Shit My Sherlock Does [7]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fem!Sherlock, Female Sherlock Holmes, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Lesbian Character, Poetry, Queer Gen, Queer Themes, girl!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonXL/pseuds/ShannonXL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a game. Not a message. Not a means to atone. </p>
<p>When Sherlock Holmes was young and (more) reckless, she made a mistake. Her big brother bailed her out, but there was a price. No more London. </p>
<p>She wrote to Mycroft while she was using. This is what she wanted to say. </p>
<p>Kindly burn this message after reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a manifesto, on the eve of my banishment

In the hopes that you will understand  
I must explain  
the chemical composition of women:  
Made of sugar and puppy dogs and sunshine and rainbows  
fifteen percent goodness, eighteen percent poise  
thirty percent elegance  
and the rest is just noise  
-stifled and contained and wrapped up with silk ribbon  
and I am not made of rainbows.  
I am made of lightning  
And sirens  
And ancient ire  
And thriller escapes with doves and with handcuffs and drowning in water and  
Impatience  
and _Rage._  
  
I am not made of softer things.  
My love is not photogenic.  
It is not wrapped up in gardens and sown with seeds that god or man can nurture.  
I am not made of the smell of fresh bread or the taste of birthdays in July.  
I am not mild summers.  
I am not gentle falls.  
  
I am not made of rainbows  
Brother _dear_  
I am not made of colors  
I am stark  
I am bleak  
I am barren  
(not literally enough for my tastes)  
but I am not really built for motherhood.  
I am not sweet  
I am not a madonna  
I am virginal  
only in the languages where _virgin_ means _power_  
I am mystic  
I am psychotic  
when the occasion demands it.  
  
I am made of blood stains and wildcats and poison and pain  
and I am not made of rainbows.  
I am made of storms  
of Nightmares  
of Starlight  
that's died far away.  
I am made of an ache  
of a Burden  
of Thirst  
of a queen in exile by a war older than time.  
I am a Soldier  
and the barrel of my gun is not coated in roses.  
And I am not broken  
because I am not broken.  
  
I am not made of rainbows  
because fuck rainbows  
and your lily white impression of what it means to be  
Anarchic  
Aberrant  
Quixotic  
Deluded  
Disordered  
Romantic  
Castrated  
Erotic  
Beloved  
Neurotic  
and Queer.  
  
I am made of stones.  
I am thunder.  
I am shocking.  
Electric.  
Provocative.  
I am Witchcraft and Sorcery and boils and babies and bloodsucking-  
yes, a melodramatic fool-  
I am a vision of Goths riding into rome  
with chrism on their brows and fury in their hearts.  
I am named Revenge  
and I am Pitiless:  
I do not sow gardens,  
I do not sing vigils,  
I do not recite poetry.  
I am permanently banned from the garden of Eden  
since the incident wherein  
I stripped the nymphet tree bare  
and spoiled all her fruit,  
succulent and nourishing,  
and I took it.  
I take all.  
  
I am not going to miss you.  
Because I am stronger than that.  
Because I am a determined fool.  
Because I am a constant.  
And a sticky place.  
And a rock.  
I am colorblind and sick,  
I am twisted and confused.  
And determined to sit comfy with the wicked.  
And the devil lodged inside of me;  
pricking my insides and spurring me to strike  
(coaxing so gently).  
Because I am not made of the kinder things.  
My insides are meaner  
than cotton underthings and finishing schools and purity rings and  
I am an excellent recipient for disaster.  
  
I will not be stranded on the side of the road  
with an engine I can't make sing  
and a heart that is used to waiting.  
I will fly closer to the sun than anyone has ever dared.  
And I will become the heat that all the wax melts through.  
And I will open my arms.  
And I will burn brighter than light.  
Because I am all things combined.  
I am too wide for something as simple as a rainbow.  
I will be the somewhere that comes after it,  
I will be hard.  
And I promise you,  
I will be hard.  
Because I am not made of rainbows.  
Because I am altogether more than that.


End file.
